The Games
by SH Ships Sherlock
Summary: This is a series of one-shots that all have to do with Sherlock and the Olympics, past and present. What happened to the secluded Sherlock at the London Olympics? How annoyed does he make John while watching the Sochi Olympics Opening Ceremony? Who is Sherlock working for on a top-secret case? WARNING: Season 3 spoilers
1. The Games of the Past

A/N: Ok, so I got the idea for this one-shot while watching the Opening Ceremony last night. I wondered, 'What would Sherlock think of the Games?' I, personally, love focusing only on the performance and dedication of the athletes, I do not think about the different teams. I figured that Sherlock would probably feel the same. And thus this story was born. **If you didn't read the summary, this is your warning that there are Season 3 spoilers.** Enjoy the story and the Games! -SH

**Note: I do not own any of the athletes, the Olympics, or Sherlock. This really bums me out, yet I still have to write this every time.**

**Rating: **K

**Summary: **Sherlock recalls memories from the London Olympics whilst waiting for the Sochi Olympics to begin.

Sherlock was sitting curled up in his seat in 221B Baker Street, watching the prelude to the 2014 Winter Olympics. He was watching the Men's Team Figure Skating initial rounds. Sherlock had always wanted to either be a figure skate or a gymnast if he were in the Olympics. He was awed by the amazing Yevgeny Plushenko of Russia; he was just so good at swaying the judges and the crowd, his skill immaculate. Sherlock saw himself in Plushenko, but he had to admit that Yuzuru Hanyu was also quite the star. He was really looking forward to the singles, because boy would that be a showdown. John and Mary weren't getting to the flat until later. Even with the increased threats with Moriarty back and everything, Sherlock didn't require the lovebirds to stay with him. But since they were not coming until later, Sherlock could reflect on the Olympics just two years ago.

**One and a Half Years Ago in Belgorod, Russia**

Sherlock sat in his tiny little apartment, thinking about how much he had done in the past year. But taking down Moriarty's connections was taking longer than he had expected. The one thing that truly made him sad was that the one year that the Olympics were in London, he couldn't be there. There was no way that he could chance John or anyone else or even people that were still loyal to Moriarty's right hand man, Sebastian Moran, seeing him. It was just too risky, too many opportunities to be picked up on a camera for even a second. But he so badly wanted to go and see the gymnastics and diving. Oh, how he loved those two events! The beauty and the grace that both sports involved reminded Sherlock of the dancing that he cherished in secret.

But there was no way for him to go. It was just too risky. There was a knock on the apartment door. "Delivery for Спартак Морошкин!" the delivery boy called. Yes, of course he took an undercover name, but it still took a while to get used to each new one. After the boy had left he went to the door and quickly brought the package in. It had his undercover name on it, but did not have as many customs stamps as one would expect, considering it was going into Russia. And it had not been opened. Strange.

Once Sherlock ripped open the package, he saw only lots of stuffing surrounding a single sealed envelope with his real name on the front on a flowing cursive. He could spot that cursive anywhere. Sherlock quickly ripped open the envelope.

_I hope this letter finds you well, brother mine, and by well I mean alive. I have been tracking Moriarty's devout followers, and almost all of them have been eliminated thus far. But that wasn't why I went through all the hassle to get you this letter. I know how much you love the Olympics, even though you have always tried to hide it. You were never really good at hiding, were you? So I decided that since it is relatively safe in London at the moment, I would do something nice for you that way you will be in my debt forever. You will find enclosed a one- way ticket back to London set for just a few days before the games begin. Also enclosed is your ticket to all of the gymnastics and diving events that I know you love so very much. You must not make any contact with me or anyone else when you are in London. Have a good trip, don't die. –MH_

And so Sherlock went off to the London Olympics, staying in the shadows of the stadium, smiling from ear to ear the whole time. On that trip he also did a little spying on John, not that he had any reason to ever tell him that he had. And they were the best games ever, to Sherlock at least.

John and Mary burst into 221B. "Sorry we're late, we ran into a bit of traffic as everyone anxiously races home to watch the Opening Ceremony on the telly and gossip over what's what and who's who," Mary said then stopped short when she saw Sherlock sitting there, staring into space and smiling for the first time in a long time.

"I forgot to tell you how much Sherlock loves the Games," John whispered to Mary, letting Sherlock stay in his memories.

"I sort of picked up on the fact," Mary replied tartly.

Notes:

- Yevgeny Plushenko (also can be spelled Evgeni) and Yuzuru Hanyu are actual figure skaters who are competing in this year's Winter Olympics. This is Plusheno's fourth time in the Winter Olympics; he has won one gold and two silver medals in the past. Plushenko is from Russia. Hanyu is a fairly-new figure skater. He holds the world record for best score in the men's figure skating competition. While only nineteen and not yet at his peak performance, he is expected to win big. Hanyu is from Japan.

-Спартак Морошкин is Russian for Spartak Moroshkin. I just wished to give him an interesting name.

-I do not mean any offense to any country or people. So I am sorry if I have offended you in any way.

**Please tell me what you thought! I had lots of fun writing this and hope that you enjoyed reading it.**


	2. Olympic-sized Deductions

**A/N: So, I know I thought I was just going to write the one fic about Sherlock and the Olympics, but ends up I lied. I came up with this one while in the shower last night. It can be read on its own, or after the previous fic. Enjoy!**

**Note: I don't own the Olympics or the athletes or Sherlock. Triple bummer!**

**Rating: **K

**Summary: **Sherlock is super annoying and John gets angry.

It was the middle of the Opening Ceremony of the 2014 Winter Olympics, and the athletes were just starting to come out from the underbelly of the stadium. Sherlock was leaning forward in his seat, staring intently at the screen. 'Uh oh,' John thought to himself, 'He's going to do that thing he did the other year…'

"Ok, let's get started, shall we?" Sherlock said.

"Get started with what?" Mary replied.

"With the deductions, of course! Ok, he is gay, he is gay, they are secretly dating, he wants to kill that other guy, he is gay, those two girls are together, he murdered someone, together, together, together, together, together, gay, together. Ugh, this year is too easy! And they are supposed to be hiding their gayness extra hard this year! What is going on? Couldn't they make my life at least a little interesting?"

John just sighed as Sherlock continued his soliloquy on the athletes of the year. He leaned over and whispered to Mary, who just sat staring slack- jawed at Sherlock, "He does this with every Olympics, making it his personal mission to figure out the total number of people sleeping together, who those people are, and who is gay. He also does other random little deductions, as you can see. Sherlock and Mycroft supposedly bet on the number beforehand and then challenge each other to know the exact number of each category. It helps Mycroft sometimes catch people and keeps Sherlock occupied for a few hours."

"But how does he remember it all?"

"His mind palace, remember? He just stores it all away and challenges Mycroft's memory too."

"Well, that's… interesting."

And Sherlock just went on and on until all the people were in the arena. And then near the end of the Ceremony… "Ugh, can't Russia just get that one thing right! Really, it is not that difficult to just turn off that one stupid light- thing that is 1.67 seconds off from the other ones! It is driving me insane!"

"Sherlock, it's not that big of a deal," John sighed while rubbing a hand over his face, "Can't we just enjoy this lovely Opening Ceremony in peace?"

"No, I won't let this rest. I am calling Mycroft about this abomination."

"But Sherlock," Mary said soothingly, "then you would automatically lose your bet with Mycroft, wouldn't you? And we wouldn't want that to happen, would we?"

"No," Sherlock said with his petulant- child voice.

"Now will you please be quiet so that at least some people can enjoy what they are watching?"

A few days later, John and Mary were watching the Olympics from the comfort of their home, without a yelling Sherlock in their ears. While watching the figure skating, they saw an athlete that Sherlock had pointed out in the Opening Ceremony being escorted out of the athlete section. Normally one wouldn't think much of such an occurrence, but John and Mary both knew that it was the athlete that Sherlock had said had killed someone. So, naturally, they both stood up and shook their fists at the sky and shouted "Sherlock!" at the top of their lungs.

**Please note: I do not mean to offend anyone with any of these one- shots. So I am so sorry if you feel offended. Especially you, Russians. Because I love your country, it is beautiful.**

**Ok, so… I might actually write a whole other fic just about Sherlock at the Sochi Olympics, so if you would like to check that out, it might be up in a few days.**


	3. Ch 1: The Plushenko Case

**A/N:** I came up with the idea for this story whilst watching the Men's Individual Long Program for the Team Figure Skating. I was absolutely mesmerized by the amazing skater who is Evgeni Plushenko. So I decided to make a Sherlock story with him as a main character! Now, later on in this story, I might imply some things about the magnificent Plushenko, but, believe me, I know that he is not going to be what I say he is. So please don't take anything as an offense.

**Note: **I do not own Evgeni Plushenko (though that would be pretty cool, but eventually would get annoying), the Olympics, any Olympic athletes, or Sherlock.

**Rating:** T for some more mature content

**Chapter Summary:** In which Sherlock is bored and Mycroft offers a diversion. John tries to relax, but instead almost dies laughing.

**WARNING: Season 3 Spoilers (sort- of)**

Sherlock was so ready for the Games to start, he felt like he couldn't wait another minute. Sadly, he still had to wait another week. Since he didn't have a case at the moment, Sherlock had nothing to occupy himself and quickly found himself growing bored. But, being Sherlock Holmes, he quickly did something about it.

By the time Mycroft came by, which was only a total of five hours, Sherlock had managed to solve twenty- nine cases, play five rounds of chess against himself, and almost completely decimate the wall with arrows, darts, and bullets. "Well somebody's bored," Mycroft said in a sarcastic voice as he sat down in John's old chair, "Would you like me to relieve you of your great burden, Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighed from is reclined position on the couch with his fingers steeple under his chin and said, "Only if it is more than an eight, otherwise I will be conducting some experiments on bombs in enclosed spaces."

Somehow Mycroft managed to not look put off. "I think that this would qualify as a ten." Somehow he managed to not smirk when Sherlock's head whipped around so fast that he winced.

Mycroft only had to say one word and Sherlock's bags were packed. He was going to Sochi.

John was having a nice, relaxing Friday evening after a stressful day at work. It was always so nice to have an evening to spend with Mary without worrying about the consequences in the morning. Then his phone buzzed. He sighed, already knowing who it was, but still checked it just in case Sherlock was about to die again and these were his last requests.

_I'm going to be out of town for a few weeks. On a case. –SH_

John just stared at the screen, wondering if he should reply, as it seemed Sherlock wished. He definitely wouldn't have texted him about such inconsequential things otherwise. He gave in and replied:

_What case is so important that you would miss the Olympics? –JW_

_A case that is an 11. –SH_

John couldn't believe what he was reading. There was no such thing as an eleven. There couldn't be. The highest case level that he had ever been on or heard about was an eight point five. It had to be Mycroft's doing, to get Sherlock off of his back.

_What did Mycroft tell you? –JW_

_One word. Plushenko. –SH_

John was confused. Plushenko? Who the heck was Plushenko? Or what the heck was Plushenko?

_Sherlock? What are you getting yourself into here? –JW_

He didn't get a response. Since Sherlock was ignoring him, John quickly got out his computer and researched the word Plushenko. What came up surprised him.

**Plushenko: The Best Male Figure Skater of All Time?**

**2010 All Over Again: Plushenko to Be in the 2014 Winter Olympics After 3.5 Years of No Practice**

**Is Plushenko's Ego Really Too Big, Or Is He Just That Good?**

And many more articles along the same lines.

What was Sherlock getting himself into now John wondered as he sat back in his chair. "Hey, Mary," he shouted down the hall.

"What?" she shouted back.

"We should look for Sherlock in the Olympics."

"Why? It's not like he'll be there."

"Oh yes, he will," John shouted back, smiling so hard he thought his face would crack. Then he started laughing at the idea of Sherlock in the Olympics. Of course Mycroft had given him this case, it was his dream come true.

So… what did you think? Are you as excited about the case as I am? If you liked these, you might also like my other stories From Darkness I Awake and Running To You.


	4. An Apology to All

This is not a chapter, sorry for all who were hoping this was. This is an apology for not updating recently. I am so sorry, my life has just been crazy busy at the moment. If you feel like I am only doing this with your story, this is happening with every story. I promise to do a really update in about a week, though. I will make you proud! Once again, sorry if you thought this was an actual update.


	5. Ch 2: The Plushenko Case

**A/N:** Sorry this took me soooo long, guys! Life has just been crazy busy and I like to do a lot of research for anything I write. For example, I searched through many Russian skaters for this story, looked up where people lived, colors of mountains (it's ok, that will make sense later), and watched some of Plushenko's interviews so I could get a feel of his accent. Please review! I would really appreciate it!

Note: I do not own the copyrights for Sherlock, the Olympics, or Evgeni Plushenko. _All lines spoken in English are italicized._

Sherlock was walking through the crowded Sochi airport, trying to dodge women with children and children alike. He didn't even bother looking for the chauffeur Mycroft had gotten him. _"Mister Holmes?"_ a tall man with a heavily Russian accent came up to him and asked. When the only acknowledgement he received was a brusque nod, he quickly led Sherlock to the waiting car.

When Sherlock arrived at the Olympic village to be halted by the полиция, or in English, the _politsiya_. He sighed as he held out his arms and allowed his coat to be taken off as he was patted down. Calm down, Sherlock, he commanded himself; if you do not deal with this you will never be able to see your idol. When his embarrassing pat down was finally over, he got back in the car and was directed to the area specified for the Russian Olympic Team. As he entered, all the athletes stared at him. Sherlock heard one athlete (he could tell that he was a biathlete, probably Антон Владимирович Шипулин, or Anton Vladimirovich Shipulin in English) was whispering to another, a strong girl (a hockey player, Инна Николаевна Дюбанок, otherwise known as Inna Nikolayevna Dyubanok by the looks of her), saying, "What the heck is a Brit doing in our turf? Doesn't he know he is in the wrong place?"

Sherlock, of course, overheard him and replied with, "Yes, I know that I am seemingly in the wrong place, but I assure you that I am not. I was called here by Vladimir Putin himself." Everyone in the room looked shocked, and had good reason to be. Shipulin had whispered in Russian, Russian slang no less, and this… this Brit had replied in Russian slang with all his words in the correct order and perfect grammar, matching the Tyumen dialect that was used by Shipulin. Then a hush fell over the people as their king came forth. A lithe, graceful man two inches shorter than Sherlock strode nimbly towards him. His hair was long and dirty blonde, his nose straight and regal, his eyes the blue of the Arctic Ocean, rimmed with the dark blue of the Ural Mountains. Everything about this man screamed of arrogance and prestige. Evgeni Plushenko, the greatest male figure skater ever in the history of the world.

"_Hello, Sherlock Holmes,"_ Plushenko said in a heavy Russian accent, rolling his R's, _"Thank you for coming to help me."_ His A's were soft and his I's harsh. Plushenko led Sherlock to his room, and the sea of Russian athletes parted before him.

Sherlock spoke to Plushenko, "You know, we could speak in Russian if it makes you more comfortable. I am fluent."

Plushenko turned his sharp gaze to Sherlock and looked him up and down. "I have heard much about you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, but do not think that I would not dismiss you at this moment if I thought for I moment that I didn't need you," he finally acknowledged with a single raised eyebrow.

When they finally got to Plushenko's room, he barked a dismissal at his roommate, Фёдор Александрович Климов (Fedor Alexandrovich Klimov, a Russian pairs figure skater). As soon as he was gone, Sherlock turned to Plushenko and said, "I was called here, but I do not know why. I just was told your name."

"Well, you see, Mr. Holmes…"

"Just call me Sherlock, please. May I call you Evgeni?"

"Yes. As I was saying… Sherlock, I think someone is trying to murder me."

Sorry for this being so short. I am just trying to get it out there and maybe satisfy some of your hunger. Also, if you are mad at me for the short chapter, you can always go check out my other works! I published a play script of a crossover of "Pretty Little Liars" and Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. You might want to go check it out! I also have some other interesting works going on at the moment, and I will try to update soon! Hope I meet your expectations of not just being another gay Plushenko fic!


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